


love will never be lost on me

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It would have been ridiculous and counterintuitive for Kaleb not to be present. When she presented her argument, her logic flawless, he had no choice but to agree.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	love will never be lost on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



*

 

Sahara takes a sip of her tea – raspberry mint, a new kind she’s trying out – looks out across the ballroom, and sighs in relief. 

The event is a breeze, despite Sahara’s logistical concerns and Kaleb’s… well, Kaleb-ness. She loves him more than life itself, but Sahara is fully aware of how the time necessary for Kaleb to adjust to the new way of the world and his very public position in it. When you posit yourself as the standard for the new Psy, you must be seen. 

Hence, Sahara’s insistence at his presence at this evening’s event. San Francisco is still the most open, most tolerant region in North and South America for the mixing and socializing of races necessary to create a more open society all across the globe, and the Kyriakuses and the Duncans, as well as the changelings Packs, have made efforts to expand their influence outside of the region. Anthony Kyriakus and Sascha Duncan have joined forced to create a new foundation, meant to assist Psys at all status and regional levels in their transition into a new kind of system; this event is just the first of many meant to publicize their efforts and remove the stigma of Silence from all races. 

It would have been ridiculous and counterintuitive for Kaleb not to be present. When she presented her argument, her logic flawless, he had no choice but to agree. 

(It may have also helped that they were in the shower, naked. But that’s besides the point.)

“You look very happy,” Faith says as they linger near the coffee and tea station. 

“I am,” Sahara says with a bright smile. She likes the freedom to express herself as she has always wanted to since birth. The Kyriakuses have always been perfect in their Silent shells, but those inside understand that there are lies you perfect for survival; and the Kyriakuses always survive. Indeed, they flourish. Anthony made sure of that. 

“Kaleb is still a mystery to me,” Faith murmurs, strikingly beautiful in her gold silk sheath. Her red hair, pulled back at the nape of her neck, is a sleek spill of curls down her shoulders. “But I suppose that’s the nature of a man like him.”

Sahara sets her tea cup down and clasps her hands in front of her, her eyes focused on the milling crowd, the muted gold string lights draping from the ceiling beams. “I understand him. I believe, for him, that’s all that matters,” she says softly. 

That black-and-gold bond shudders with her words, rooted deep within her. He is always with her, as she is with him. Her scars are his, as his are hers; _you have always been mine_ , she told him once, and she tells him again and again every time she wants to do so. They are free and they are each other’s. 

Faith curls her freckled hand around Sahara’s. “I’m glad for you both,” she whispers, and kisses her cousin’s cheek. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Sahara spots her uncle and smiles. “Your father is dancing,” she whispers, feeling like a schoolgirl once more. 

She can feel Faith’s grin against her soft cheek. “With Nikita?”

Sahara pulls back, glancing at Faith appraisingly. “You’ve been keeping secrets,” she accuses with a laugh. 

Eyes flashing, Faith just laughs, voice low and rich. “The future is always in motion. But let’s just say I have my suspicions.”

“That would be… unexpected, to say the least,” Sahara muses, resting a hand on her hip. She drums her fingertips against the beading of her evening gown, a blue to match her eyes, sheer and beaded sleeves to cover the worst of her scars. She has no shame in them; but they are for one pair of eyes only now. 

“I think many things in our lives have been unexpected. I don’t know that I would change many of them,” Faith says thoughtfully, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Perhaps what happened to you, but – “

“The past is the past. I’m more interested in moving forward,” Sahara interjects gracefully. 

Tilting her head, Faith looks at her curiously. “Perhaps you should adopt a pet.”

Something delicious and happy warms within Sahara’s middle. “Oh. Perhaps,” she says, fighting a smile. 

“There are many shelters in the area that have dogs and cats who need good homes. I’ve thought about it myself, but Vaughn is so awfully possessive,” Faith mutters with a good-natured sigh. “But a dog – yes. I think a dog would do well with you and Kaleb.”

Sahara wets her lips, sends an image through their telepathic bond. A fluffy dog with big eyes and a toothy grin, dark like Kaleb’s hair, to sit at their feet on the terrace, or under his desk in his office. _What do you think?_

_I think it is a dog_ , is the even reply. 

_Do you like the idea?_

A pause, and then: _Perhaps._

Sahara smiles and turns her attention back to her cousin. “I think so, too,” she says. 

Later, Sahara takes a moment for herself, in the gilded marble bathroom down the hall from the ballroom. The décor is old-fashioned, from another era entirely, all white and grey marble and gold-silver accents; she likes it. 

“That dress is beautiful on you,” Kaleb says as he slips inside. She can hear the latch of the lock on the door. 

Smiling, she turns away from the mirror and leans against the cool sink ledge. “It is a beautiful dress.”

“On you. Only you,” he says, eyes dark and gleaming in the muted lamplight. Every piece of his suit is perfection, pressed and straightened and sleek, his hair smoothed back and shining darkly. 

A flush suffuses her face. “You followed me.”

“For a purpose.” 

He moves to her, his hands cupping her hips and sitting her on the ledge. 

_Here?_ She asks him, a little breathless. Her thighs part for his instinctively as he steps flush to her. 

There is that slight half-smile of his, one that warms her right through. His is a face unused to true emotion; she likes that he practices, for her. _Here._

_This is a populated area, and we are in a building that is not necessarily structurally reinforced to your specific needs,_ she points out even as he lowers his mouth to hers, teases her lips open with his tongue. Shivering, she curls her hands into the lapels of his jacket and tugs, brings him that much closer until she can’t breathe and doesn’t want to. 

His hands slide over the curves of her breasts, the nip of her waist, her thighs and calves, leaving a trail of heat and want in their wake. He finds the hem of her gown and slides his hands under, tracing the lacy edge of her garters before continuing onward. Still he kisses her, until her eyes are closed and she is loose and melted under his touch. 

_I only wish to do one thing_ , he tells her, rubbing the heel of his hand against her clit. The mental image he sends along the bond thrills her, sharpens her arousal. 

“God,” she moans against his mouth, arching her hips into the friction of his touch. “Kaleb – “

He is gone from her mouth with a bite – she likes his teeth – and sinks to his knees before her. It is a startlingly submissive position for a man such as Kaleb. But his gaze meets hers and she nods just once before her skirt is pushed to her hips and he’s dragging her to the counter’s edge, the marble warming under her bare thighs. He tugs her panties away with ease and soon it is just his mouth on her warm wet flesh, the press of his fingers inside of her. She arches into the touch and grasps the edge of the marble with her hands, knuckles whitening as he slicks his tongue along her clit. 

Every touch feels as if it is a worshipful moment, a dedication of his body to hers, his mind to hers. And through the bond, he tells her; he tells her he loves her, tells her she is everything, tells her the things she already knows but still craves from his mouth to hear. Her gasps and moans, stifled by the press of her teeth into her lip, is a reaffirmation of that simple truth; they are each other’s, no one else’s. Over the slick wet sounds of his mouth on her skin and her hard breaths, she thinks she hears the bend of a pipe. But she cannot stop and he will not, will not relinquish his hold and want of her. When she comes it is with a stuttered moan of his name, her dark hair falling loose from the chignon at the nape of her neck. 

“I need you,” she whispers hoarsely as he rises, his lips slick from her. His cheeks are flushed, his gaze obsidian. _Kaleb_ \- 

In the space of a blink, they are in their bedroom, in their home, in the house he built for her. He takes her still in her evening dress, against the wall; she wraps her arms and legs around him and kisses him until she cannot breathe and then for even longer. His hips sink against hers as he moves in her, his hair falling low across his brow. When she closes her eyes she feels it and sees it, the bond bright and fierce between them. It is their constant, their standard. 

Later he stretches out in bed as she peels the dress away from her sweat-damp skin.

“I assume you told Anthony we had to leave, as not to be rude?” she teases, hanging up the dress for the cleaners. 

“I did,” he says mildly. She can feel his eyes on her as she pulls one of his t-shirts over her head to sleep in. “A dog?”

Smiling slightly, she glances over her shoulder at him as she undoes the knot of her hair. It falls shiny and thick down her shoulders and back, dark against his grey shirt. “Yes.”

“To protect you?”

“For companionship,” she says, sliding under the sheets and wrapping her arms around his chest. 

He strokes a hand down her hair and back. “I do not know that I would trust myself with something so defenseless,” he says after a long moment, his voice hoarse. 

She looks up at him, hands resting lightly on his chest. “I trust you,” she says, sending it down the gold-and-black tangled bond. 

His gaze meets hers, unreadable to anyone but her. She sees the love, sees the surprise there. “I trust you with everything,” she says again, thumbing a smudge of her lipstick from the corner of his mouth. 

A sense of solidity and love fills her, strong and steady. He turns his mouth to kiss her fingertips. 

“Then we shall think about it,” he says quietly. 

Sahara knows him well enough to take it for the affirmative that it is. 

 

*


End file.
